A familiar name. (Hannibal)
John Watson was lost in his own hospital. He blamed the problem on his tendency to camp in the clinic; it wasn't that he disliked Dr. Tam, but John didn't share space well. He hadn't been to his desk in over a week, but there was paperwork to do and he couldn't hog an examining room when he had a corner to himself in the administrative wing. Dr. Watson strode down the stark white halls in search of the placard with his name on it, and in spite of his coat and ID, he probably looked like a visitor instead of a member of the staff.
Damn it. Maybe he'd gone right past.
John turned and retraced his steps, looking more closely at the doors this time around. He dismissed each stranger's name in turn until he reached one that he recognized: Dr. Lecter. Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
Jennifer hadn't been kidding. There was a Hannibal Lecter in the City. John considered walking away, but he didn't. Perhaps he'd been living with Sherlock for too long, but curiosity would not allow him to keep going. Watson lifted his hand and knocked.